Finally here!

 I feel like I have learned so much in the past 37 hours; my mind is completely exhausted, and we haven't even started classes yet.

I arrived here in Delhi at 12:30am on January 11^th after about 23 hours in transit. Before, during and after that flight from Amsterdam, I was already beginning to see signs here and there that told me I was certainly heading for somewhere completely different from the United States—Hindi, Sikh turbans, head wags, long dresses, slight pushiness were all present on the 7ish hour plane ride here. After immigration I headed for the baggage claim. As I normally would in the U.S., I stood back a few feet from the carousel in order to be able to see aways down the belt so I could anticipate my bag's arrival. This worked out fine for a moment, but considering that I had flown in with the rest of my 747, the space between myself and the carousel was quickly swallowed up by men who were taller than me. Although I immediately felt a little offended by these people's lack of disregard for myself, I silently reminded myself that 1) getting my bag quickly didn't matter in the slightest since I knew I would be waiting for another fellow SIT student to arrive after me, and 2) I was entering a new country with completely different ways, so I just needed to chill out and observe. Now, after more opportunity to observe, I am starting to realize that when you live in a country with literally a billion other people, you do push to get what you need, or else you won't get it.

After collecting my luggage, I realized that I had no idea how to meet up with the two other students who were arriving in my same time bracket, and that I had no idea how to identify my ride (and that I should have gone to the bathroom before getting my bag—duh Ellie). I saw the mass of chauffeurs waiting outside of customs and decided I didn't want to spend my first few minutes staring at each of the hundred signs trying to find one that, for all I knew, didn't exist. I walked past and scanned the people hanging out around the waiting area for people who didn't fit in. As I spotted a possible outcast like myself, Champa came up to me with an SIT World Learning sign and escorted me over to the very woman I had spotted (sidenote: outcast, for those of you like me who had never really thought about the origin of this word, literally comes from being outside of the cast, or at the very very bottom of society, like the Dalit Untouchables here). While Champa, a quiet but very kind man who works in some still-unidentified way for SIT, waited for the third student of our time slot to arrive, I got to spend time getting to know Jamie. Jamie is a student at SIT Vermont in her thirties who is currently doing some type of interdisciplinary master's that I can't remember right now. Most importantly, we connected on all kinds of topics that got me pretty excited about the Sustainable Development classes we are starting tomorrow. I felt reassured that I was doing the right thing for myself and my career (and that feeling hasn't subsided!).

Around 4am (a few hours behind schedule), Michelle rolled out of customs with two bags, looking anxious. She had spent the past 2 ½ hours looking for/dealing with her third lost bag (she is during her practicum in Ahmadabad after we finish up our courses, so she brought the whole kit and caboodle). She had finally resigned herself to giving the airline the information we had about where we were supposed to stay, so we were ready to go... until we got out to where our driver would pick us up, when Michelle panicked and ran away from us, saying something about “I lost my book.” She hadn't made it clear to us that her travel documents were in that book, which she thought she had mistakenly placed in her luggage cart and left behind as we crossed the street. As we ran around searching for Michelle's pink book, it was hitting me that, holy crap, I was in INDIA. People didn't speak English, the security guards were fiercely guarding the door, taxi drivers and auto-rickshaw drivers were trying to get us into their cars, and Michelle's travel documents were most probably long gone in this chaos. She checked her bags again annnnd found her book and everything she needed. I suppose I could have gotten upset about this, but I am finding that more and more I like to congratulate myself when I think I have lost something and it turns out to be exactly where it was supposed to be. I feel happier that way :)

We took the half-hour car ride alongside horse-drawn carts. Maybe it was my post-travel fatigue, but I felt like these heavily shawled and layered cart-drivers making their way into Delhi through the fog were somehow linked to Sharazad, like they had just made an immense trek across far away lands. The galloping Palamino reinforced this image in my head. We arrived at our hotel in Jasola Pocket-2, which is a gated community in the midst of a lot (like a LOT) of poverty, aside from the manicured basketball courts and cricket fields across the street. We are staying in an extension of the Blue Moon Hotel, because I guess there wasn't as much room as was initially thought at the Blue Moon, which is also in Pocket-2. As in teaching, flexibility seems to be the name of the game here in India.

Champa-gi led us inside to hotel, and we assumed we would be told where our pre-assigned roommates were placed so we could go crash in our beds. You think you'd have an easy time in India? Haha not so fast! Lots of Hindi was spoken amongst the hotel men, and never were we able to make clear to the men (who had been sleeping on mats on the floor before our arrival) that we just needed to know where our particular roommates were. Even with the sleepy help of Claire, another SIT student, who came out of her first-floor room to try to ameliorate the situation, we never were able to completely understand why there wasn't enough room in that building. Jamie and I ended up being taken down the street about 70 yards to the actual SIT center, where there happened to be an extra empty bedroom. At 5am, I plopped down on the (super hard) bed and tried to go to sleep. Even inside my sleeping bag I had brought along (like totally inside, with part of it over my head and the opening completely closed shut by my fisted hands) and the provided blanket, I was super cold. Delhi is cold in January. So weird.

Jamie and I woke up around 9:30am and were met by Suleman, the shy, quiet chai-wallah of SIT. He is probably a little younger than myself, and works in the kitchen and brings people chai (they drink upwards of 10 cups of chai a day!). He made us breakfast that morning (toast, chai, peanut butter and crackers) before we went back to the hotel to go to our real rooms. I asked him why everyone seemed to be referring to each other as something-”ji,” like Champa-ji, Abit-ji, Ellie-ji, etc. Suleman explained that “-ji” is a sign of respect for people. I decided immediately that I loved this, and the first time I made contact with my family and boyfriend, I informed them that they had now attained the “-ji” title in my book (Mama-ji, Daddy-ji, etc., or, for my boyfriend, Louis-ji haha). Everyone in SIT now enjoys calling each other using “-ji.”

Around 10 or so, Jamie and I headed down the road back to the hotel, where we were shown to our rooms where our roommates were waiting, as expected! After meeting my really friendly, 22-year old roommate Brittany (a recent University of Vermont graduate who is in the Sustainable Development Master's program at SIT Vermont) and setting my things down, I finally got to take a hot shower (there is a pretty dependable hot water heater that you have to turn on 10 or 15 minutes before your shower). The bathroom was all granite, but it had absolutely no divider between shower and the rest of the room. I've noticed that there is a big bucket and smaller cup in every bathroom I go in here in India, mostly placed in the shower, but often just in the bathroom area. I've also noticed that there is always a shower hose and head next to the toilets. I've been using the bucket for laundry, but I'm pretty sure I could benefit from a step-by-step explanation of exactly how these unfamiliar bathroom tools are used. But somehow I doubt I'll work up the courage to ask an Indian woman to explain it all in the amount of detail I actually want, nor will I find an Indian woman actually willing to explain such private (and probably very obvious) things to me.

Somewhere in the whole process of getting ready to go exploring with other SIT women, I stepped out onto our 4^th floor balcony to take in the view (and smell). Across the little street, still within the confines of Pocket-2, another four-story apartment building is under construction. All around it was scaffolding made of lashed-together bamboo poles that looked like it wouldn't be up to any American code, but seemed to be functioning just fine. I admired the unassuming bravery of the men who, sans safety gear, balanced themselves on 2x4s laid on the bamboo scaffolding and put together this new building in beautiful fashion. Turns out these construction workers and their families live in the buildings they work on until the building is done, after which they move on to the next building they construct. Each night we saw and smelled the fires of this community, made up of a particular caste who is fairly destined to spend their lives, generation to generation, living this life. Being in a big city like Delhi, there is a certain amount of social mobility and a small possibility of a different life if so desired. However even in Delhi the caste system is alive and well, as I will discuss in my next entry (and I wouldn't be surprised if it is a continuing theme in my blog, since the caste system is a cause of many human rights violations here in India).

The building under construction across the alley from us, complete with construction worker residents and bamboo scaffolding

Our friendly neighbors!

Another thing I noticed from the balcony was a particularly horrible smell that made its way to my nostrils amongst all the other crazy smells of India. Just to the left of the partially-constructed building is a plot of street land entirely dedicated to the drying out of flattened water buffalo patties, that are sold and used for fuel. It's certainly a resourceful use of cattle dung, but good god it smells bad, especially when it's lit on fire. In fact, I have been reminded of Central America a few times, although it's far more powerful here, of burning trash and feces. Lovely (to the point of making me gag).

Water buffalo dung being dried out between the street and our gated neighborhood. Smells lovely. Not.

The nine students who had arrived and were staying at 19 Pocket-2 (as opposed to Blue Moon) took a quick stroll around Jasola. Jasola Village is really poor, but it's not a slum. There is trash everywhere, along with cows, pigs, people on motorcycles, people driving rickshaws (both motorized and bicycle-propelled), standing water, zero sidewalks, and more trash. I guess it's honestly hard to describe, because there is absolutely nowhere in the U.S. that looks like this that I have seen. Our large group of foreigners in western clothes attracted blatant stares, which is to be expected (and I had read about it in Lonely Planet on the plane ride over). We walked past the “hospital” and the “pharmacy” (I have been warned not to use these places for my medical needs) over to the “mall,” which is really just a whole bunch of little stalls all piled on top of each other, but what else is a mall other than that, really? There is a liquor store at the mall, but I would only go there during the day and/or with a group, since women who drink attract a certain amount of attention here. If I was in a group I would certainly feel safe, though. On the way out of the mall, a boy of about 6 latched on to me and begged for money from me for about 100 feet. I ignored him, talking to my new peers, until the corner, when I gently pushed him away. That was the first encounter of tons of heartbreaking requests for money, either through sales of cheap materials or through begging. Goutam-gi, one of the Hindi teachers and Academic Coordinator-types for SIT, when asked how he decides to whom to give, responded with this: “When my heart sees it, I give. The eyes, they see, but other parts of our body also see. When you close your eyes and touch a knife, your fingers see that it is sharp. Just like this, you can close your eyes and your heart will see the truth. When my heart sees that I need to give, I give. With my eyes I am blind, and in that way I can be cold to people.” I thought this was a beautiful way of helping me understand that I will know when to give and when not to give.

A typical, absolutely delicious dinner thanks to Champala and Suleman- dalh, curry, veggies (that we can actually eat because we know that the knives that cut it are clean) and roti

After our first lunch of many delicious lunches at SIT Delhi, made by Champa and Suleman (who know, after I told them, that I hate cilantro, which they call coriander, and who have made separate coriander-free dishes for me whenever the group dish has coriander in it! So nice and yummy!), five of us headed into town on the Metro. We paid Rs 10 (which means 10 rupees) apiece to take a motorized rickshaw over to the Jasola-Apollo Metro Station. We later learned that only four people should take a rickshaw at a time, since having the fifth person sit up front next to the driver can throw the balance of the rickshaw off. Not knowing this at the time, I climbed in next to the driver and off we went.

As we were studying the map, trying to figure out how to get to Rajiv Chowk as per Lori's directions from one of our coordinators, I noticed that all of the Metro stations that started with M had the same Hindi letter, since they had both the Hindi and English spellings on the map. I decided, in the style of Sesame Street, that my letter of the day would be M. I spent all day looking for this letter, and was particularly happy when a sign for a Hindi-named place would have both the English and Hindi spellings. I am going to continue Sesame Streeting Hindi for awhile :)

Manual Hindi

We bought our Metro coins, which are little plastic coins with some kind of chip inside that has the amount of money you need for your trip on it. You scan them as you enter the Metro, then you go through security (which is separate for men and women), you take the Metro, then you deposit your coin on the way out as you walk through the turnstyles. The great thing about actually taking the Metro, though, is the Women's Only car—it makes me happy just thinking about it! The last car of each Metro train is identified by two large pink signs hanging from the ceiling that declares in white English and Hindi script Women Only. Obviously men aren't allowed on this car, and it smells better and feels cleaner than other cars. When men (usually teenagers) try to get on, whether by accident or on purpose, they are immediately told by the women on the train to move to the next car. If they slow down in their journey, they are again told to move on to the male car. It is so awesome to watch, and there is this great camaraderie that exists there, alongside a certain feeling of relief and respite.

We took the violet Metro line all the way to its final station, Central Secretariat, a major hub full of people, where we changed to the yellow line. We took that two more stops and got off at Rajiv Chowk, which is where Connaught Place is located. We were swept up in the mass of people that make up the mid-afternoon crowd (which, as I would later find out, is nothing compared to the 7:30pm crowd). As some of my friends got coffee (including a “vegan shake” which was actually just coffee with ice and way too much in the way of sugar crystals), I went in search of Metro maps. I noticed, waiting in line, that no one was waiting in line. In fact, there was no line besides me. So I decided to do as the Indians do and simply assert myself. Although there were two people discussing something through the hole in the glass with the Metro employee, I snaked my arms through them and the hole in the glass and grabbed five Metro maps. No one reacted at all. This is now my modus operandi, just getting what I need when I need it without thinking about letting order have its way, and it is working really well for me. I guess it's actually just a different definition of order if you think about it.

Connaught Place, which is right above Rajiv Chowk, is a big circle that surrounds a park. The whole thing is, of course, is full of people, and many of them seemed interested in us. We had several men approach our group of five women and offer directions, ask if we needed anything, follow us around, what have you. None of it was particularly welcome, but none of it was harmful. We wandered around the park area, through the cheap open-air markets selling western item that didn't interest us, and finally ended up at this little exhibition that was elevaetd above street level in the park, and it was to educate Delhiites about the nomadic tribes of neighboring Rajasthan. They had handcrafts, including beautiful pouches (Brittany bought one), food (I bought some fresh masala chai, made right in front of me from scratch, that was absolutely delicious), and musical instruments. A woman who seemed to be running things came up beside Brittany and me, the only westerners around because our other friends had gone to sit in the grass and talk to little girls who were selling pens (under the creepy gaze of a man who we think was basically pimping them). She told us that the government was sponsoring the exhibition to promote the nomadic traditions, and also that these people could make money by creating their traditional handcrafts rather than moving into call-center type jobs. She explained that the instruments were healing instruments that are played near your heart and that make a particular tone that is good for you, and she recommended 15 minutes a day of playing. We then watched and listened as the woman and a few other people, including a traditionally dressed Rajasthani nomadic man, played a few songs that were unlike anything I've ever heard. I loved it! After the music, a man who was working at the exhibition came up to Brittany and me and offered us a roti (flat bread like naan, but rougher) that was made with special grains from Rajasthan that had spicy oil on it. Yum!

Connaught Place is FULL of people! 

The little girl at Connaught Place taking a break from selling pens to play with the Rajasthani nomadic healing instruments

We got to hear traditional music as part of the exhibition on Rajasthani nomadic tribes

We started making our way towards the Gate of India, which turned out was quite the walk. We could have paid a few rupees to take an auto-rickshaw, but we opted to walk to see more of the city. I really enjoyed the upscale neighborhood through which we walked, which had big green trees overlooking walled-in condos and centers of commerce and learning. The fog that possesses Delhi throughout the winter started to settle as the afternoon passed, giving the area an enchanted look that fascinated me. When we finally made it to the Gate of India (which I honestly know nothing about, having simply followed the leadership of one of my peers), we found out that it had closed about an hour before. Oh well! We made our way back to the nearest Metro and found our way back to 19 Pocket-2 Jasola. After a the internet finally gave out for the night, I fell asleep ready for the next day's SIT Delhi Orientation. I was excited to really get the learning started!

I'll try to be more succinct in coming emails. I'd love to hear thoughts, questions and reflections as I go along my journey! 

Śānti (peace),

Ellie